Reunion
by oneship
Summary: Let's face it, Nemesis did terrible things to TNG canon, not the least of which was the separation of the doctor and captain. I'm not one to let egregious errors fester, so here's my take on bringing our illustrious couple back together. Expect some romance, mild angst, UST, and maybe even a little bit of humour. Oh, and this hasn't been beta-ed, so please forgive me.
1. Chapter 1

Over the past year Doctor Beverly Crusher had come to enjoy many aspects of her job as head of Starfleet Medical. While there were times where the administrative side of things annoyed the brilliant redhead, there were other aspects that left her feeling truly fulfilled. Today's tour was one of those things.

Beverly loved giving tours of her command to the upcoming cohort of medical students. Each student was a recent graduate from the Sciences stream at Starfleet Academy, and each was extremely excited to be entering their first year in the Starfleet Medical program.

Like a proud mother goose followed by a gaggle of goslings, Dr. Crusher escorted her protégés through the various departments, labs, and surgical wings of the largest medical facility on Earth. In each area she would take the time to explain what the students saw around them as well as answer any questions the students were brave enough to raise.

Beverly Crusher was by no means domineering or intimidating, but her reputation as the finest doctor in the Federation held many in awe. It didn't help that she had a temper to match her intelligence – Dr. Crusher did not suffer fools lightly.

Beverly did not believe any of these students were fools. She had personally interviewed each one prior to their admittance into the medical program, and she was fully versed on their records and performances at the Academy. Drawing on that knowledge, she sought ways to bring them out of their awed silence and into engaging dialogues about science and medicine.

"Ensign Matthews," Dr. Crusher addressed a pert young brunette at the front of the group. "I understand that your thesis on unicellular propagation of Tholian Ivy drew heavily on the research into the subatomic structure of the cellular walls of climbing plants."

Surprised, Ensign Matthews nodded, then quickly found her voice. "Yes, Doctor. I was fascinated by how such a rigid cell structure could lend itself to the fluid nature of Tholian Ivy."

Dr. Crusher smiled then replied, "Then you will be interested to know that similar research is being done here in our botany labs. In fact, Dr. Xarses is currently looking for ways to apply our knowledge about such cell structures in other settings."

Ensign Matthew's eyes widened with excitement. "Organic metals," she whispered.

Dr. Crusher nodded, her blue eyes sparkling. "Perhaps, if you are interested, you would like to join Dr. Xarses' team as a junior research assistant." Dr. Crusher stifled a laugh at the look of amazement on the young woman's face, "But only if you have time between your regular studies."

Ensign Matthews practically bounced with joy. "I will organize my time and my studies to make it work, Doctor."

Dr. Crusher smiled. She had no doubts that Ensign Matthews would find a way to handle the additional work. She had no doubt that any of these students would love the opportunity to do some extra work in their fields of interest, which is why she always tried to informally pair each student up with a mentor.

As per usual, Dr. Crusher was planning on ending the tour in the heart of the medical facility. A firm believer that medicine is about people, she liked to reinforce this idea by ending the tour in the clinic itself. Here students could see medical practice in action, and they could take home the message that medicine is about saving and preserving lives.

The clinic was busy as they entered. Doctors, nurses, and patients were bustling around in what appeared to be ordered chaos. As the group came to a halt in the main foyer, Dr. Crusher turned to begin her last informational speech for the day.

Just as she was about to speak, she caught sight of a familiar bald head in her peripheral vision. Her heart stopped. _It can't be_ , she thought as she quickly scanned the crowd. Whatever she had thought she'd seen was nowhere to be found. Mentally shrugging, she turned back to the medical students in front of her.

Immersing herself in the tour, Beverly promptly pushed away all distracting thoughts, and proceeded to explain how the clinic served as the true heart of the facility. As they toured the area, she spotted her second in command crossing the foyer with what passed for consternation on his Vulcan features.

Dr. Crusher excused herself from her students and caught up with Dr. P'Taph just as he was about to enter the hallway where several patient exam rooms were located. Seeing his superior officer approach, Dr. P'Taph stopped.

"Dr. P'Taph, is everything all right?" queried Dr. Crusher.

"Yes, Doctor," replied the older Vulcan. "I am simply dealing with a matter that does not often occur."

Puzzled, Dr. Crusher raised an eyebrow.

Taking that as a signal to elaborate, Dr. P'Taph explained that there had been several complaints about an uncooperative patient and he was going in to deal with the situation.

"Is this patient violent?" she asked.

"No, Doctor," replied P'Taph. "From what I have been able to discern from the three interns and two physicians who have tried to work with this patient…"

Dr. Crusher felt her ire rising quickly. "This patient has harassed five of my staff?"

Dr. P'Taph almost let out an un-Vulcan like sigh. "Doctor, I understand your desire to protect your crew, however I suggest you let me address the issue. While I do not condone the patient's actions, I feel that the head of Starfleet Medical stepping in is not a logical use of your time."

"You're right," she replied as she let out a deep breath and ran her delicate fingers through her hair. Now visibly more relaxed, she began to turn her attention back to the students and their tour. "Let me know how it goes."

"You will have my report on your desk before the end of my shift, Doctor," replied P'Taph.

Dr. Crusher nodded her thanks as she walked back to join the medical students.


	2. Chapter 2

Post Nemesis Story

Returning to her office after dismissing the excited—yet still awed—medical students, Dr. Crusher smiled at her assistant who quickly stood up to follow the doctor into her office.

"Admiral Necheyev called twice, there was a level two containment failure in viro-robotics lab 5, the Federation Minister of Health wants answers concerning the outbreak of Rigelian Fever on Outmos Four, your son will be shipping out on the _Gillespie_ in three days and wants to see you before he goes, both Xenobiology and Radiology have not submitted their weekly progress reports, and Dr. Barbarossa wants your feedback on the design plans for the new medical facilities in Perth," recited Lieutenant John Parker.

Dr. Crusher looked up at her dedicated assistant. He was young for the job, only recently promoted from Ensign, but his calm demeanour, even in the face of her fiery temper, endeared him to her. Dr. Crusher couldn't help but feel motherly toward this tall, gangly, young man who put in tireless hours keeping her office running.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," she replied as she reached for the PADD he held out to her. "Please tell Dr. Barbarossa I will review the plans later this evening and I will contact him as soon as I am able."

Beverly sat behind her desk, her thoughts quickly focusing on contacting Admiral Necheyev at Starfleet Command when she realized Lt. Parker was still in her office. Raising a questioning eyebrow in his direction, she wondered what additional administrative nightmare awaited her.

"Sir, you asked me to remind you, about the, well, the," he stammered, took a breath and tried again. "Sir, the Senior Officers Mess Dinner is this evening and your attendance, as head of Medical, is required."

"Damn!"

"I'm sorry, Sir," Lt. Parker replied, wincing.

Dr. Crusher frowned and checked the chronometer on her desk. "Damn!" she swore again. "I don't have much time before I need to leave."

Looking up at her assistant, she said, "Tell the Minister of Health he will have my report by lunch tomorrow, send the incident reports from the containment failure to my home – I'll review those after the bloody dinner, coordinate a lunch or dinner with my son's schedule, and tell the idiots in Xenobiology and Radiology that their reports had better be on my desk by 0800 hours or else!"

Not missing the opportunity to escape, Lt. Parker replied with a sharp, "Yes, Sir!" before swiftly darting through her door and to his workstation beyond.

"Bloody Starfleet dinners… nothing more than a spectacle of self-satisfied bureaucrats sitting around patting themselves on the back… while real work could be done to save lives," she muttered under her breath as she waited for her call to Admiral Necheyev to go through.

"Admiral," said Dr. Crusher as the woman's face appeared on the screen.

"Doctor," replied Admiral Necheyev. "I take it you are keeping well."

Dr. Crusher smiled. Both women were notorious for their dedication to their work, and for the long hours they poured into their positions. "As well as can be," replied Crusher.

"Good," nodded the Admiral. "Well, I won't beat about the bush, Doctor. As you know, we have a number of ships coming out of retrofit over the next few weeks, and we need to have the crew complements finalized as quickly as possible. In order to position our officers where they can be of best use, we need you to meet with the Command officers so you can be briefed on the upcoming missions and priorities of the various vessels."

Dr. Crusher nodded as the Admiral continued. "Since the Dominion War, all our resources have been stretched to the limit, and we still have some serious gaps to fill. We need you to determine the medical needs associated with the deployment of the fleet, and we need you to do it fast.

"We have the Mess Dinner this evening that cannot be postponed, or missed," she added when she saw the hopeful gleam in the doctor's eyes, "But the rest of the Command staff has agreed that we should meet after the dinner is over.

"The Command Staff will be leaving the dinner at 2200 hours. You are to leave with us. I have no idea how long the briefing will take, but I will need your analysis and crew assignments by 0800 hours tomorrow at the latest."

Before Dr. Crusher could even acknowledge the directive, Admiral Necheyev had terminated the transmission. She quickly updated her assistant on the situation, apologizing for needing to call him back to work later in the evening, and then headed to her personal washroom to change into her dress uniform.


	3. Chapter 3

Post Nemesis Story

Captain Jean-Luc Picard hated his dress uniform with a passion. The mere thought of the offending items of clothing made him itch, so it was not at all surprising to see a deep scowl cross his dignified features as he gazed down at what was laid out across his bed.

With a resigned sigh, he began to dress for the Senior Officers Mess Dinner. _Gods, how he hated these types of events!_ Ever the consummate diplomat, Picard knew he could put on a convincing show, but he still dreaded these events almost as much as he dreaded his annual physicals.

"But not quite as much as I hate the Visiting Officers Quarters," he muttered to himself as he tried not to hear the noises coming through the wall. Whoever was next door definitely had a very active social life, and Picard was tired of being repeatedly exposed to it.

Heading for the door to his quarters, Captain Picard ran a finger around the collar of his uniform in a vain attempt to achieve a minimal level of comfort.

The dining hall was crowded. Most of the officers had already found their seats, but there were a few who were still mingling prior to the entrance of those sitting at the head table. Captain Picard was escorted to his table by a fourth-year Academy Cadet who had drawn the dubious honour of helping to serve at the dinner tonight.

Politely thanking the cadet, Picard moved to take his seat and was pleasantly surprised to see a familiar face staring at him from across the table.

"MacDonagh," he said cheerfully. "How wonderful to see you! I thought you were out on a deep space mission."

"Picard, you old space dog!" replied MacDonagh with a deep laugh. "The _Minh_ had a brush with a particularly nasty ion storm, so we had to come back to the dockyards for an overhaul."

Looking quizzically his old friend, MacDonagh continued, "I thought the _Enterprise_ was patrolling the Neutral Zone?"

Chuckling slightly, Picard replied, "She is."

"Then what in blazes are you doing here?" asked MacDonagh. "You're not being court martialed again, are you?"

This time Picard had to laugh, "No such luck MacDonagh! Apparently the Admiralty want to keep me around awhile longer."

The burly captain of the _Minh_ gingerly lowered his bulk back into his seat and said, "Where has all the time gone?"

Picard marvelled at how MacDonagh could contort his giant frame into a standard chair. Once seated, he effectively blocked Picard's view of a good portion of the room. Raising a glass of water to his lips, Picard replied, "The past few years have certainly been anything but boring, MacDonagh."

"True. True," MacDonagh chuckled. "I used to fantasize that I would wander around the galaxy for a few decades, meet a few new species, see a few new space phenomena, and blissfully retire to Risa to truly enjoy my accomplishments."

"Thinking about retiring, then?" Picard inquired.

"Not on your life," said MacDonagh. "They'll have to pry my cold, dead, fingers off the console on my command chair. I'm married to my starship – just like you."

"Yes, well," Picard cleared his throat and tried to change the subject. "So how long are you going to be planetside?"

Ignoring the deliberate change of topic, MacDonagh continued, "You're not giving up your command are you? Or," a mischievous light glinted in his eyes, "Have you finally found a woman capable of keeping your attention for more than a few weeks?"

Picard flushed, but was saved from having to reply by the arrival of those sitting at the head table. Watching as the various Admirals filed into the room, Picard let his gaze wander across the crowd of close to a hundred Starfleet officers. It wasn't until MacDonagh shifted his chair slightly to the right that he saw her. His heart froze.

 _She's here_.

He had spent the past year trying to forget her; trying to erase the impact she had on his life, and the terrible void she created when she left. No longer securely locked away, the memories fought to be released as he stared at the back of her head.

He hadn't wanted her to disappear from his life. They had started off keeping in touch on a daily basis; little notes, letters, subspace messages, anything to keep the connection alive. Try as he might, the connection just wasn't the same. They were leading two very different lives, and each day seemed to pull their lives further and further apart.

Then, of course, there were the missions. One of the reasons, he knew, she left the _Enterprise_ was because she was tired of running a triage centre. The _Enterprise-D_ had been a family ship, and the _Enterprise-E_ was not. He knew the darker, more militaristic nature of his current command conflicted with her healer's sensibilities.

This conflict had begun to seep into their communications following the third mission after the ship left drydock. He tried to gloss over some of the less than pleasant details, but she knew the truth – she had the casualty reports on her desk.

Things grew even more tense after missions where he had required medical attention. She was always relieved to see he was still alive, but she also grew angrier with every risky situation Starfleet put him in. It wasn't long before there was very little 'safe ground' in terms of conversation for them.

He wasn't sure how it started, whether he was the one who stopped calling as frequently because he was afraid of sounding like a battle report, or whether it was her because she couldn't listen to him describing yet another near-death experience. Either way, their conversations became shorter and less frequent.

And then, one day, about a year ago, he realized he couldn't do it any longer. He couldn't reconcile the memory of the rich companionship they once shared with the cool, lifeless, relationship they were currently enduring. The thought of losing her friendship was like a rusty blade twisting in his heart, but the charade they were acting out was killing him.

So, he ended it. He stopped calling, he didn't return messages, and shortly afterward, she stopped too. Though it pained him, the complete severing of their relationship had begun to heal, which was a far easier pain to deal with than the festering sore their long-distance relationship had become.

At least, he thought it had begun to heal.


	4. Chapter 4

Post Nemesis Story

Blinking at the hand on his arm, Picard looked at the officer sitting to his left. "Your friend across the table is concerned," she explained. "He's been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes."

Embarrassed by the lapse, he thanked the Andorian captain and looked over at his friend. "I'm sorry, MacDonagh. My mind seems to have wandered."

"Ah, it's no problem," he smiled. "You senile old goat."

Picard chuckled, "Old? I do believe that I am eight months younger than you."

Nodding sagely, MacDonagh replied, "Hmmm, yes. At this point in our lives, eight months makes such a difference in terms of experience and maturity."

Both men laughed. As MacDonagh shifted in his seat, Picard caught a glimpse of her again.

He couldn't help it.

No power in the universe could force him to take his eyes off her. Drinking in the sight, he mentally catalogued everything he could see. Her auburn hair was longer than he remembered, she looked relaxed as a smile chased across her lips, he could see suppressed laughter in her eyes, and he couldn't help but admire how the fit of her uniform highlighted the excellent shape she was in.

The dinner drew to a close: the tables were cleared, the coffee was served, and everyone waited for the obligatory speeches to begin. Staring into his coffee, Picard realized that he honestly had no idea what he had been discussing with MacDonagh and the others at his table for the past two hours. He hoped he had been coherent, or at least sociable, but he couldn't say for sure. All he knew was that he could not get the thought of _her_ out of his mind.

The voice of Admiral Brandt brought his thoughts back to the present. Giving himself a mental shake, his focused his attention on the speaker, but not before risking one last glance over MacDonagh's shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

Post Nemesis Story

Contrary to her expectations, Beverly Crusher was having an enjoyable evening. She found herself sitting at a table with an assortment of fellow captains from all areas of Starfleet. At first she thought they might have trouble finding common topics to discuss, but she quickly discovered that they all possessed a delightful sense of humour. Ever since Captain Gershingt had cracked the first joke about what the Admirals _really_ did while waiting to enter a Mess Dinner, she hadn't stopped smiling. Each person at the table tried to surpass the others in telling humorous stories from their years of service.

There were several points during the evening where Beverly had felt as though someone was watching her. She knew it wasn't rational, and even forced herself not to look around, but she couldn't escape the feeling. Finally, during the dessert course, she gave in and chanced a look around the room, but she hadn't seen anything or anyone to explain the sensations she was feeling. Chalking it up to stress and overworking, she turned back to her dinner companions.

Sipping her coffee, she settled more comfortably into her chair while the various admirals at the head table made their speeches. _This would be why they serve us such strong coffee_ , she thought.

"It is with great pleasure that I stand before you tonight," began Admiral Po in his deep, resonant voice, "As I have the honour of extolling the virtues and accomplishments of two remarkable Starfleet officers."

Beverly was only half listening as Admiral Po went on to describe the career of Starfleet Academy's current Commandant. Her attention didn't even fully return when Po announced the impending retirement of Admiral Jameson. It was only when the whispers around the room grew loud enough to draw her thoughts away from the upcoming crew deployments that she tuned in to what the Admiral was saying.

"Following the awarding of the Distinguished Service Medal, he again served as the commanding officer of yet another vessel," Admiral Po continued to elaborate on the officer's curriculum vitae—a CV Beverly knew almost as well as her own—her mind suddenly shifted into crystal focus.

"Please join me in welcoming the next Commandant of Starfleet Academy, Captain, soon to be Admiral, Jean-Luc Picard." The room erupted in applause as he strode to the podium.

 _He's here_.

Her mind reeled, her heart lurched… and her soul cheered.

Never had she experienced such mixed emotions simultaneously. She had tried to put him out of her mind, throwing herself into her new job at Starfleet Medical. She tried to fill the void in her soul with duty and routine, but unable to truly let go, she'd had her assistant keep tabs on the _Enterprise_. Knowing the flagship of the Federation was stationed along the Neutral Zone made his presence at the Mess Dinner all the more shocking.

She studied his face as he addressed the crowd; registering every nuance in his tone and gestures.

 _He looks tired_.

Her gaze travelled over his face, noting new lines. She could see he was genuinely excited about the prospect of heading up the Academy. She knew, from long years of experience, that in addition to being an explorer, he was a scholar at heart.

Beverly couldn't help but notice the fit of his uniform. Jean-Luc Picard was very fit for his age, and while he still filled the uniform admirably, she could tell he had lost weight.

 _I bet he's fallen into old habits and isn't eating well_.

Like her, Picard used his duties as a barrier from personal and social situations that made him uncomfortable. Unlike her, he also tended to let his appetite slip.

Captain Picard's speech, as well as the formal portion of the evening, drew to a close. After the applause, Admiral Po invited everyone to join the Admiralty in the lounge for drinks and socializing. After stepping down from the podium, Picard was instantly swamped with well-wishers and was quickly lost to sight. Captain Gershingt took her arm and escorted her from the table.


	6. Chapter 6

Captain MacDonagh was enjoying himself. He had decided to stick with Picard as he mingled with the senior officers after the dinner. It amazed him how easily his old friend was able to shift and change his demeanour to suit the personality of the person he was chatting with. He watched, impressed, at the diplomatic skills so expertly wielded by the compact man standing beside him.

MacDonagh scanned the room and couldn't help noticing the redheaded officer who had caught Picard's attention at dinner. He admired her shapely form, her prominent cheekbones, and her natural grace of movement. He decided he agreed with his friend's taste in distractions.

A short while later, MacDonagh realized the redhead was much closer to them. While neither Picard nor the attractive officer seemed to be aware of it, they were gravitating towards each other. MacDonagh wondered if Picard still possessed his winning ways with women that he had so frequently showcased while at the Academy and through his early years of service. He figured if those two met tonight, he might get to see for himself.

MacDonagh's wish was quickly granted as the two captains turned to place their empty glasses on the bar. Even though Picard and the redhead were almost two metres apart, MacDonagh swore he could almost feel the shock of energy that passed between the two as they made eye contact. The woman was the first to move and speak.

"Jean-Luc," she breathed as she made her way to his side. Smiling nervously at him, she continued, "Congratulations!"

Clearing his throat, Picard replied, "Thank you, Doctor." Looking more carefully, he amended, "Or should I say, Captain?"

Dr. Crusher blushed slightly and fingered the four pips on her dress uniform, "Yes." A mischievous glint came in to her eye as she added, "Normally I look at it as an honour, but when it means I have to attend these types of functions, I start to think of it as a bit of a curse."

MacDonagh and Picard laughed.

"Doctor Beverly Crusher," Picard said, "I would like to introduce you to an old friend of mine, Captain Ben MacDonagh."

Dr. Crusher extended her hand and MacDonagh gently took it in his massive paws. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Doctor."

"Likewise," she replied. "I always enjoy meeting Jean-Luc's friends." Glancing teasingly at him she added, "They always have such _interesting_ tales to tell."

MacDonagh laughed as Jean-Luc coughed in embarrassment. "I like the cut of your jib, Doctor," MacDonagh boomed. "We will have to get together sometime before I redeploy and share a few stories."

Laughing as Jean-Luc seemed to be getting more worried, Beverly replied, "Oh, I would like that very much!"

Thinking to prolong his friend's suffering just a little longer, MacDonagh decided to tease him with one more jest. "Well, Picard, I think you should ask this lovely doctor to do your medical clearance exam," his eyes glittered. "I know I would jump at the opportunity to submit myself to a woman of such obvious talent."

Jean-Luc almost choked as MacDonagh blatantly ran his eyes over Beverly's every curve.

Picard coughed. "Actually, MacDonagh," he said, his control slowly returning, "I have already completed my medical and have been cleared for service at the Academy."

"You!" Almost a whisper, the word exploded from her lips with the force of a steel cable snapping.

MacDonagh was taken aback by the sudden change in the doctor's demeanour. Gone was the relaxed, smiling woman. Instead, the two men were faced with an icily beautiful face and a body that radiated controlled fury.

Jean-Luc couldn't help but flinch as her eyes pinned him in place. "You're the pompous ass who intimidated my staff earlier today!"

MacDonagh's eyes widened.

Picard raised his hands in a placating gesture, "Doctor, please."

"Don't you dare 'Doctor' me, Jean-Luc!" she hissed, now almost nose to nose with him. "Who do you think you are, treating my staff like that?!"

"Beverly, I…" stammered an obviously flustered Picard.

"They know their jobs, damn it!" She cut in, not allowing him to speak. "They have years of training and are the best in their fields. I will not stand for it. An insult to my staff is an insult to me. They are dedicated Starfleet officers who have devoted their lives to preserving and respecting life, and you have the gall to waltz in and treat them like Quellian pond scum?!"

MacDonagh watched in shock as the indomitable Captain Picard withered under the onslaught of Beverly Crusher's wrath. He expected the man to retaliate, to use his command presence to put an end to the conversation, anything other than what he was witnessing.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Beverly paused.

"I'm sorry," replied a very humbled Picard.

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, Captain," she replied coolly while tucking a stray wisp of hair behind one ear.

Just as Picard was about to reply, Admiral Necheyev appeared at his side. She nodded to MacDonagh and Picard; then turned her attention to Dr. Crusher. "Doctor, the Command staff are leaving now. You will join us."

Admiral Necheyev nodded curtly to all three officers and left.

"Good evening, Captain MacDonagh. It was a pleasure meeting you," Beverly smiled politely as she took her leave. Nodding icily at Jean-Luc, she simply said, "Captain," spun on her heel, and quickly moved to join the group of Admirals exiting the lounge.

MacDonagh couldn't help but laugh. Seeing the scowl on his friend's face made him laugh even harder. He was very glad he had decided to spend the evening following Picard around. He doubted he could have found better entertainment anywhere else in the galaxy.


	7. Chapter 7

Doctor Crusher was exhausted. The meeting with the Command staff had gone on for hours. This was followed by a late night meeting with Dr. P'Taph and Lt. Parker. By the time she had her report ready to submit to Admiral Necheyev, it was 0500 hours. Rather than go home and sleep, she had taken a quick shower, put her regular uniform back on, and had begun slogging through the other work waiting for her attention.

She had no recollection of time passing and didn't realize she was staring blankly at her computer screen until something blocked her view. Focusing, she discovered that she was now staring at a lovely peach coloured rose resting in a crystal bud vase. Casting a quick, expert look over it, she knew it had been grown and not replicated.

She looked up to see a familiar figure standing in front of her desk.

"What's this?" she queried.

Captain Picard fidgeted slightly. He would never understand what it was about this woman who could make him feel so nervous. "A truce, Doctor."

Beverly leaned back in her chair and arched an eyebrow, "A truce, Captain?"

"Yes," he began. "I have just finished apologizing to each member of your staff whom I treated poorly yesterday. I have also assured your second in command that there will not be a repeat of any such behaviour in the future."

Beverly smiled and sighed, "Jean-Luc, when will you realize that your very presence intimidates the crap out of people?"

Visibly relaxing, Jean-Luc replied, "I don't do it intentionally."

Now both eyebrows shot up.

"Well, not very often," he conceded. Still seeing her disbelief, he amended, "All right, I do it all the time. But it's only because it's so effective!"

Beverly threw back her head and laughed.

 _Gods, how I missed hearing that_ , he thought as he took the opportunity to admire the gorgeous woman in the chair. He could see she was tired. Despite the dark smudges under her eyes, there was beauty and grace in her every movement. He would never grow tired of watching her.

Her laughter subsiding, Beverly gazed up at her friend. She was amazed that his presence, and his ability to make her laugh, had completely abolished the exhaustion that had been weighing her down earlier. She glanced over at her computer terminal again and saw the rose. Gently picking it up, she held it to her nose.

Closing her eyes, she sighed, "It's beautiful. Thank you, Jean-Luc."

"It's not half as lovely as the woman holding it," he replied.

She quickly checked to see if he was teasing her, but all she saw was sincerity in his hazel eyes.

"I was hoping you would do me the honour of joining me for lunch today," he said. "As a means of sealing the truce," he quickly added as he watched her gaze flicker to the chronometer on her desk.

Realizing she wasn't likely to get much more work done anyway, she readily accepted the invitation. Standing up and moving around the edge of her desk, she joined the captain as he moved towards her office door.


	8. Chapter 8

Beverly blinked as they walked through the doors and headed down the wide stairs outside the main entrance of Starfleet Medical. She squinted as the early August sun reflected off the white marble, dazzling her momentarily.

She paused to clear her vision before descending, and chuckled softly. _When was the last time I left Medical during daylight hours?_

Jean-Luc turned to look back at her—somehow aware she'd stopped her progress—and gazed at her inquisitively. "Doctor?"

She smiled. "I was surprised by the brightness of the sunlight on the stairs," she said as she stepped down to join him. He nodded and kept pace with her as she reached the bottom and headed for the nearby street. "And I realized it's been a long time since I've left work at a decent hour."

A look of vindication crossed Jean-Luc's features and he opened his mouth to speak, but Beverly cut him off.

"Don't even think about it, Mr. I'll-take-leave-over-my-dead-body Picard."

His mouth closed with a soft pop and he harrumphed and tugged down his uniform jacket. "I was simply going to suggest that old habits die hard, Doctor."

"Of course you were," she deadpanned. "And I can assume you've been taking regular time off?"

"Ah, well," he said, clearing his throat. "The _Enterprise's_ missions didn't really allow for much spare time…"

The laughter in her eyes faded at the mention of his former ship and he cursed himself for bringing their conversation around to unsafe ground so quickly.

"No, I imagine they didn't," she almost whispered. Her hands fluttered, searching for lab coat pockets that weren't there. "Jean-Luc maybe this wasn't—"

"How about here?" he asked before she could finish suggesting they shouldn't meet, pointing to a small café on their left.

Beverly glanced at the wrought-iron tables and chairs set up outside the plate glass windows. Most were filled, but a few were still empty. She sighed and let him lead her to a table in the shade of the awning.

They sat and a server appeared with menus and a description of the day's specials.

"The seafood salad sounds like a good choice," Jean-Luc said without bothering to look at the other options.

"And for you ma'am?" the server inquired.

"Just coffee for me, please," Beverly said. "I need to get back to the office."

"Of course." The server nodded and left.

Jean-Luc tried to mask his disappointment by fastidiously adjusting the napkin in his lap.

"Jean-Luc, I—"

"Beverly—"

They both broke off and gestured for the other to speak.

When neither took the invitation, Beverly sighed and said, "Well, this is awkward."

Jean-Luc gave her a weak smile. "Yes, well…"

The server returned with their fare and set the salad and coffee on the table.

"Thank you," Jean-Luc and Beverly said, simultaneously.

Jean-Luc picked up his fork but didn't start eating, afraid she'd dart off the moment his mouth was full. Part of him knew she'd never intend to be rude, but he'd made her uncomfortable with his earlier remark, and—based on personal experience—that made her a flight risk.

He racked his brain for a safe topic of conversation, but all the things he could think of led back to the Dominion War and its after-effects.

Beverly brought the steaming cup to her lips and pretended to take a sip. Part of her brain urged her to cut her losses and leave before they could do any more damage to their shattered friendship.

 _What was I thinking?_ She sighed as she inhaled the aroma of freshly ground beans. _I can't keep building up walls and breaking them down only to have to build them back up again._

"Penny?"

Beverly met his gaze and set her cup down. "I was just thinking about the truth behind the saying, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, yet expecting a different result."

"And what if a new result were guaranteed?"

She shook her head. "For how long? How long until Starfleet decides that only the illustrious Jean-Luc Picard can resolve some conflict?"

"Your opinion of my skills are far higher than Command's, I can assure you," he said. "None of us is irreplaceable."

 _Not true_ , she thought. _To me, you've always been irreplaceable_.

Out loud she said, "You're forgetting that Command is more than willing to put you in harm's way. Just because you're planetside doesn't mean—"

He shook his head. "Not this time."

She leaned back and crossed her arms. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I've been tasked with a very unique—and daunting—mission."

A hint of her old self appeared with the twitch of her lips. "Jean-Luc, you are not the first commandant of the Academy. And while you, personally, may not enjoy the company of hundreds of youths, it's not as though you're the only—"

"That's the public mission," he said, setting his fork down and placing his forearms on the table.

Pulled by curiosity, Beverly shifted so her position mirrored his.

He watched as a slew of emotions flickered across her face: curiosity, suspicion, humor, dread, anger, resignation.

"I'm here because I remember how it was before the Dominion, before the Borg."

She furrowed her brows. "Jean-Luc?"

"They want me to rebuild Starfleet," he said, leaning closer. "We've deviated from the right course for too long, and look what it has done to the Federation, to humanity, to the galaxy."

"They what? How?"

He reached for her hand and swallowed in relief when she didn't pull away. "Beverly, it's time Starfleet stopped being the galaxy's police force and went back to its roots. It's time we went back to helping instead of meddling."

She stared at him in awe. _He can't be serious_.

"This generation of cadets needs to learn that wearing this uniform means more than commanding a ship or crew and patrolling the galaxy. They need to learn that we are one of billions of species and we do _not_ have the monopoly on moral rectitude.

"We are not right simply by virtue of being Starfleet. We need to return to a time of trust – we are not superior to the races we encounter and we need to stop asserting our vision of the galaxy on others; especially not at phaser point."

The wall she'd raised between them cracked slightly. _He's serious._

"Beverly." He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand as he asked, "What is the name of the shipyard where every Starfleet vessel is built?"

"Utopia Planetia," she replied. Her voice came out throatier than expected. Their physical contact was wreaking havoc on her nervous system: jolts of electricity seemed to bounce randomly throughout her body with every swirl of his thumb.

He nodded and smiled as a faint blush crept up her neck. Despite the bright afternoon, he was pleased to note her pupils were slightly dilated.

 _The attraction is still there_ , he thought. _She hasn't closed herself off completely_.

" _Utopia_ Planetia," he repeated. "There was a time when we risked our lives, not for our own benefit, but rather for the benefit of the entire quadrant. We've lost our utopian vision and let fear guide our actions for too long."

"But the Dominion…"

He shrugged. "What if we hadn't tried to stake a claim on our side of the worm hole? The moment we began to treat the galaxy as though anything we encountered needed to be brought into our wonderful empire, we lost our purpose—our mission—and our right to journey among the stars."

She inhaled and shook her head. "And you think Command doesn't think you're particularly special?"

"No," he said. "They don't. A number of others could—"

She laughed. "Please, Jean-Luc. They're not only asking you to rebuild Starfleet from the ground up, they're expecting you to restore peace to the entire galaxy!"

"That's not what—"

She arched an eyebrow.

"Well, perhaps that would be a desirable long-term outcome, but—"

"Jean-Luc…"

He sighed. "I don't think anyone expects me to achieve anything close to galactic peace, but," he raised his free hand to forestall her objection. "But, you have to admit it's an admirable goal. One I am more than content to work at for the remainder of my lifetime."

 _And if anyone has a hope in hell of succeeding_ , she thought, squeezing his hand, _it's the illustrious Jean-Luc Picard._

"How is everything?" their server asked, seemingly appearing out of thin air.

Beverly pulled her hand free and glanced at Jean-Luc's uneaten salad before saying, "Actually, I think I'd like a bite to eat. I'll have what he's having."

Jean-Luc tried to hide his smile by bending over his plate, as if the shrimp were suddenly the most engrossing things he'd ever seen.

 _Even if it is insanity_ , he thought, _I'm not giving up hope for a different result. Not this time._


	9. Chapter 9

Jean-Luc and Beverly strolled back to her office, clearly enjoying each other's company. When they were almost there, Jean-Luc asked her what her plans were for the remainder of the day.

"I have a ton of work I need to catch up on," Beverly sighed. "The crew deployment project forced me to put aside several things that need immediate attention.

"I'm also going to send Lt. Parker home early to get some rest," she smiled at Jean-Luc. "He works very hard for me. He's so dedicated and he helps keep me on top of everything going on at Medical."

Jean-Luc couldn't help but smile at the motherly tone she adopted whenever she spoke about her young aide.

Her steps faltered slightly as realization dawned on her. "Jean-Luc," she asked warily, "this morning… How did you get into my office without Lt. Parker alerting me?"

Jean-Luc had the grace to look embarrassed, "Well, I, um," he stammered. Sighing he said, "I'm afraid there's one more member of your staff to whom I owe an apology."

"Jean-Luc!" she exclaimed. "You really are incorrigible!"

Smiling when he realized she wasn't truly angry with him, he said, "Beverly, I enjoyed our lunch immensely."

Beverly smiled and nodded her agreement, "I did too."

 _Perhaps too much_ , she thought, her smile fading as she recalled how hard it had been to lose him more than a year ago. _I don't know if I can go through that again._

"Perhaps we could meet next week?" he asked a touch nervously.

Beverly sighed. "Jean-Luc, I don't know…"

She winced inwardly as he reacted to her stinging hesitation. Every time she got close to Jean-Luc it ended in pain. And even when close, they spent so much mental effort keeping each other at arms-length, their casual conversations were often as tense as diplomatic negotiations.

"I understand," he said, even though he didn't.

He slowed as they reached the door to her office.

"It's just that my schedule is crazy right now," Beverly said. "I shouldn't have taken time off today…"

Jean-Luc took a deep breath as he adopted a suitably neutral and diplomatic mien. He nodded and replied, "Thank you for the lunch today, Doctor. It was a pleasure. I trust, if you ever find you have time in your busy schedule, you will contact me."

 _It's for the best_ , she thought, _like pulling plursac leaves off your skin. It's better to pull quickly and get it over with._

"I'm glad we got to see each other again, Captain." She gave him a sad smile and added, "Take care."

Beverly turned and strode through the reception area of her office. She breezed past Lt. Parker and shut her door without pausing to acknowledge him in any way. She squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around her chest, willing the pain behind her ribs to subside.

 _Plursac leaves, my ass_ , she thought.


	10. Chapter 10

" _Sir?_ " Lt. Parker's voice came through the speaker on her desk. " _You have a subspace call from the_ Minh _. Would you like me to put it through?_ "

Beverly pulled her thoughts from Xenobiology's gap-filled weekly report. She was going to have set up a meeting with Dr. Swanson about her reporting practices.

"The _Minh_?" she asked, frowning.

" _Yes, Sir._ "

She mentally shrugged. "Put it through."

" _Yes, Sir._ "

" _Dr. Crusher!_ " the bass voice of Captain MacDonagh rumbled through her office as his grinning feline face filled the screen on her computer.

"Captain MacDonagh." Beverly replied, still puzzled. "To what do I owe this pleasure? Is this a personal or a professional call?"

" _A little of both, Doctor_ ," MacDonagh said. " _First, I want to apologize for not contacting you while I was still planetside. I was sincere in my desire to get to know you better. All of Jean-Luc's friends always have such interesting stories to tell._

" _And when I did some investigating and found out you'd served with him for years, well… I just_ —"

Beverly's throat tightened at the mention of her previous relationship with Picard. She hadn't heard from him in weeks—not since their lunch date prior to his taking command of the Academy—and she hadn't reached out to him, either.

"And the professional matter?" she asked, cutting MacDonagh off.

The burly captain cleared his throat. " _Yes, well, it's the same issue, I'm afraid. I'm worried about Admiral Picard_."

"My staff cleared him for duty, Captain. I saw no sign in the report that would lead me to counteract the clean bill of health." Despite knowing he was in good health, Beverly's stomach knotted with worry. _If his friend has cause for concern…_

MacDonagh shook his head. " _I doubt you'll find it on your medical scanners, Doctor._ "

"Captain, please tell me what is concerning you about Jean-L— about Admiral Picard."

" _I think it would be best, Doctor_ ," MacDonagh said with a sigh, " _if you were to see for yourself._ "

"Captain, I'm—"

" _Busy?_ " he asked, cutting her off. " _I imagine you are. But I can also imagine that you are not the type of person to allow a friend—even a former friend—to suffer."_

"Suffer?"

MacDonagh nodded.

"What—?"

" _Go see for yourself, Doctor_ ," he said, reaching toward something offscreen. " _MacDonagh out_."

Beverly tapped her fingers on her desk as she stared at the standard Starfleet Medical logo on her computer screen. She chewed on her bottom lip as she weighed both sides of the dilemma.

She couldn't disregard MacDonagh's request; that much was certain. What remained was to decide _who_ would go. It would be easier for both of them if she sent someone else.

 _Maybe Dr.P'Taph?_

But while P'Taph was thorough, and could be relied on to use discretion, she wondered if he would know what to look for.

 _How do you explain 'human intuition' to a Vulcan?_

Annoyed with herself, Beverly grabbed a stray lock of hair and tucked it behind her ear. Her dilemma had no medical basis, and she berated herself for contemplating putting her own personal feelings ahead of her professional duties.

"I don't want to see him," she whispered to herself as she pressed the control for the intercom. "Lt. Parker, I need you to book me an appointment to see the Academy's commandant."

" _When would you like it, Sir?_ "

 _Never_ , she thought, but said, "It's not an emergency, so ask for one at his earliest convenience."

" _Yes, Sir_."

She ended the call. _It would be nice if his 'earliest convenience' happened to be six months from now._

Beverly shook her head and re-opened Dr. Swanson's report, purposely shoving aside the uncomfortable truth: she wanted to see Jean-Luc again.

Very much.

So much so, that it frightened her.


	11. Chapter 11

The door to his office swung open and Lt. Cdr. Mario Ramirez poked his head in, saying, "Sir, Dr. Crusher is here."

Picard set the revised syllabus down and looked up at his adjutant. "Thank you, Mr. Ramirez. You may send her in."

"Yes, Sir," Ramirez said and then disappeared from sight.

Jean-Luc stood and tugged on his uniform jacket. He walked around the perimeter of his desk and moved into the center of the spacious office.

He thought he heard her voice in the outer office, but he couldn't make out the words. He hid a smile as he picked up the sound of her familiar boot tread. She walked faster than most officers he'd served with. _Those legs—_

He gave himself a mental shake. Now was not the time to be thinking about her legs.

"Harrumph." He tugged on his jacket again. He hadn't managed to determine the nature of her visit—her assistant had been obtusely vague when he'd made inquiries—and he'd resolved not to let the question bother him.

Beverly strode into his office, gave him a tremulous smile that sent his heart into free fall, and said, "Admiral."

"Doctor," he replied. He cleared his throat before adding, "Would you care to sit?"

He gestured toward the small sitting area, and she nodded. He turned and walked over to the replicator and ordered coffee service for two before joining her.

He kept his eyes on the coffee cups as he poured the steaming brew. He could feel her gaze on him, and he told himself her intense scrutiny was purely professional.

He paused and frowned slightly.

 _If it's purely professional, does that mean there are questions regarding my fitness for command?_

Determined not to show his doubts to her, he picked up a cup and handed it over, saying, "And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Beverly accepted the cup and took a tentative sip. "Thank you," she said.

She didn't answer his question, but rather continued to study him over the rim of her drink.

A master at using silence to encourage his opponent to talk, he recognized the strategy immediately. He sipped his coffee, refusing to give in to the urge to fill the dead space with conversation.

Jean-Luc decided to distract himself by studying her. His eyes followed the path of the sunlight coming through his office window as it struck her hair, highlighting the blonde streaks and setting the auburn on fire. He watched the play of light and shadow across her cheekbones and down her neck, and he stared, enchanted by the little pulse flickering beside her throat.

He refused to let his eyes wander lower for fear of causing offence. He brought his gaze back up to her face and let himself fall into her heartbreakingly blue eyes.

* * *

Beverly studied her patient as he poured their coffee.

 _How many times have I watched him do that?_ She wondered. _And how much did I miss it when I left?_

She forced the memories aside. She was here to get to the bottom of Captain MacDonagh's report; nothing more.

Still, she couldn't help admiring Jean-Luc's form as his well-defined muscles moved under his uniform jacket.

Memories of those muscles without the barrier of the uniform sent her mind off into unprofessional areas again.

 _Dammit! I'm here as a physician!_

Jean-Luc passed her a cup and she took a sip. He continued to stare at her with a slightly quizzical expression, and she realized he must have asked her a question.

"Thank you," she said, hoping he didn't realize she'd been distracted.

 _By his arms._

 _Such lovely, strong arms._

Her response must have been sufficient because he seemed content to sip his coffee and watch her.

She shivered as his gaze wandered from her hair, across her cheeks, and down her neck. A hint of a smile kissed his lips as he traced the curve of her neck with his eyes.

She swallowed, finding the attention… intense.

He brought his gaze back up to hers and her breath caught in her throat as his hazel eyes seemed to penetrate straight into her soul.

She opened her mouth to speak, to ask him what he'd discussed with MacDonagh to lead the man to think Jean-Luc was ill, but froze when she saw it.

She set her coffee on the table with trembling hands.

 _Dammit_. The goddamned meddling Felisian captain was right. The tightness at the edges of Jean-Luc's eyes and mouth proved MacDonagh's assertion: he _was_ suffering.

 _And it's my fault._

 _Again_.

The decades-long, and ever-present, fear settled like a boulder in her abdomen.

* * *

He watched the colour drain from her cheeks and resisted the urge to lean forward and assist as she set her cup down with trembling hands.

He raised an eyebrow and asked, "Doctor?"

She swallowed and picked at the hem of her sleeve before looking away. After what seemed like an eternity, she closed her eyes, took a shaky breath, and brought her gaze back to his.

"Jean-Luc, there's something I need to tell you."


	12. Chapter 12

_Irumodic Syndrome._

Jean-Luc waited for Beverly to speak, hoping she would drown out the voice in his head, but her silence only gave his dark thoughts room to express themselves.

 _Irumodic Syndrome._

He knew Q's version of the future wasn't real—or at least wasn't set in stone—but he also knew Beverly had found signs of the brain defect that could lead to Irumodic Syndrome when he'd returned from his time-travelling misadventure.

 _Irumodic Syndrome._

He clenched his jaw and waited.

"I didn't want to come," she said, giving him a self-deprecating smile.

"I'm glad you did," he said. He knew it would be hard for her to give him the diagnosis, but he also knew neither one of them would prefer it to be delivered by anyone else. "Bad news is never easy to—"

She shook her head and he stopped in mid-sentence.

"No," she said. "I'm not here to deliver bad news."

He leaned back and released the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. The relief quickly dissipated and was replaced with confusion.

"Forgive me for saying so, but you certainly don't look like you're about to deliver _good_ news either, Doctor."

She smiled.

He smiled in return, always glad when he could cheer her. _It's been a long time_ , he thought.

"Jean-Luc, I didn't want to come because…" her words trailed off as her hands flittered across her lap. "Because we're… I…" she sighed in exasperation. "I'm torn."

"Torn?" he echoed. He slowly leaned forward, not wanting to scare her, but needing to hear her next words.

* * *

Beverly swallowed to ease her dry throat. Her heart beat as though she'd just run a marathon, and she fought off a rising wave of nausea.

 _Why is this always so damn hard?_

She picked at the hem of her lab coat before meeting his steady gaze.

"I missed you," she whispered.

His eyes widened but he kept silent.

"When I left the _E_ ," she said. "And after. When I couldn't listen anymore."

She closed her eyes and wrestled the jumble of thoughts and emotions into a box in the back of her mind. There'd be time to sort through everything later.

"And now that you're here…"

He nodded.

"You didn't want to come today because you find your memories of our friendship painful, and seeing me brings those feelings to the surface," Jean-Luc said.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Well, yes, but that's not why I didn't want to see you."

"No?"

"I didn't want to come because I _wanted_ to see you," Beverly said. "Very much."

"Beverly, you know I am always more than happy to see you," he said, his voice rough.

 _And that's the problem, isn't it? Thinking about you—about us—sends my mind off in a million directions all at once, like a sun going nova, and I can't tell you which way is up, never mind what I want from you – from us._

 _But you, you've always known_.

"I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?" he asked.

* * *

Jean-Luc held his breath and prayed she wouldn't dart away. Throughout their more than thirty years of shared history, he could always tell when she was flirting with crossing the invisible line they'd kept drawn between them. He could predict with almost one hundred percent accuracy when she'd retreat – he'd only been wrong once.

He'd misjudged her after their experience on KesPrytt almost a decade earlier, and the experience left him doubting himself every time she'd seemed to hint at something more than friendship since.

He didn't _think_ she'd leave this time.

She shook her head. "I can't pretend you don't exist. That you're gone. That you're not a five minute walk from my office."

"Beverly, I'm sorry my presence—"

"Let me finish," she interrupted. She leaned forward and squeezed his hand to take the sting out of her words. "Please."

He nodded and waited for her to continue.

"But I can't go back to the way we were, either."

He closed his eyes and exhaled. Her fingers were cold on the back of his hand, and he focused his attention on the tiny tremors rippling across his skin; tremors caused by her shaking hand.

 _She's terrified_.

He opened his eyes and met her gaze, willing her to stay. To finish this once and for all.

"Jean-Luc, the last thing I want to do is cut you out of my life, but," she paused and took a shaky breath.

He squeezed her hand and she seemed to regain some of her nerve.

"But, I'm too old, too tired to continue our dance."

His heart froze in his chest. She'd named it; named the line. Named it in the same sentence as cutting him from her life.

"Beverly?"

He wanted—needed—her to say it. The words would hurt, but he couldn't stand the ambiguity any longer.

"Jean-Luc, if we're going to spend time together… If I'm going to have you in my life, I don't want to put a limit on our relationship."

* * *

Beverly held her breath and waited for the universe to implode.

She'd done it. All that remained was to face the consequences of speaking the words.

Jean-Luc blinked.

She forced herself to remain seated. His grip on her hand tightened, but otherwise he showed no sign of movement. Or comprehension.

He blinked again.

 _I broke him_ , she thought, fighting the urge to laugh. _I broke the illustrious Admiral Picard's brain_.

She bit her lip to keep her inappropriate humour from escaping.

"I think," he said. He paused to clear his throat before continuing, "This is a conversation best continued in a less formal setting. With wine."

He smiled and turned her hand so his thumb rested on the back of her knuckles. He traced the contours of her fingers and the warmth of his skin against her cold flesh sent shivers up her spine.

She smiled in return and some of the tension melted from the room.

"Beverly, would you join me for dinner this evening?"

"Yes," Beverly replied, her heart tripping slightly. "I think I would like that very much."


	13. Chapter 13

Beverly strode up the stairs and through the main foyer of Starfleet Command. She nodded at the lieutenant at the front desk and then headed toward the corridor branching off to the left. As she passed the entrance to the Junior Officers' Mess she heard the buzz of conversation over the clinking of glasses and cutlery.

 _Busy night_ , she thought as she continued down the corridor to the Senior Officers' Mess. _Someone must be shipping out._

Her steps faltered as she approached the entrance.

She'd accepted his invitation without hesitation, but now that she was here she questioned his choice of location. Logically, it was probably the best they could hope for given their situation: old friends, but now not quite friends, never lovers, but closer than most couples…

He couldn't very well suggest they meet in his quarters; that would be too intimate, too soon. A restaurant would be too public unless it was one of the more romantic ones, and that wasn't an option—yet. They needed neutral ground, a place either could retreat from, but private enough to allow them to talk – to truly speak about what they'd become and where they wanted to go.

She squared her shoulders and entered the Senior Officers' Mess. To her relief, the room was nearly empty, with only two or three tables occupied. She started to weave between the unoccupied tables, heading toward the partition separating the admiralty from the rest of the senior officers, but stopped when she heard her name called.

"Beverly!" Thomas Gershingt said. He stood and approached her before she could wave and continue her journey. "I didn't expect to run into you here."

"Thomas," she said, smiling. "It's good to see you again."

She hadn't seen—or, honestly, thought about—him since the Senior Officers' Mess Dinner in August, but he'd been an entertaining meal companion, and she recalled the time spent with him with fondness.

"I just ordered," he said, gesturing at the table where two other officers sat. "Would you care to join us?"

Beverly shook her head. "Thank you, but I'm meeting someone."

"Lucky devil" he said, eyes twinkling. "He's welcome to join us, too. I don't mind sharing."

Beverly flushed at the double entendre. "You might not, but I do," she said, grinning wickedly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm already late."

"Another time then?"

She pursed her lips. There was no denying Thomas was a charming and handsome man. He'd matched wits with her at the dinner, and she hadn't found his company tiresome or boring.

But that was before her conversation with Jean-Luc.

"I'm sorry, Thomas, but I'm very busy. I just don't seem to have a lot of free evenings."

He nodded. "Perhaps I'll luck out and get assigned to your table at the next 'spectacle-of-self-satisfied-bureaucrats-sitting-around-patting-themselves-on-the-back' mess dinner."

She chuckled. "Perhaps."

A young ensign approached the pair and halted a respectful distance away. Beverly glanced at her, and the Andorian took the cue as permission to speak.

"Doctor Crusher?"

Beverly nodded. "Yes?"

"The admiral is here."

"Thank you. Please tell him I'll be right in."

The ensign nodded, "Yes, Sir."

"Admiral?" Thomas said, shaking his head in mock sympathy. "You poor thing."

"I'll be fine," she said laughing.

"All business and no pleasure…" he replied, waggling his eyebrows. "I may have to make it my mission to see that your social schedule includes more than tedious meetings with stuffy old farts."

Beverly shook her head. "I can assure you I do _not_ need help with my social schedule, nor am I spending my free time in the company of 'stuffy old farts.'" She smiled. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Beverly turned without waiting for a reply and strode toward the entrance to the admirals' side of the mess. She knew Thomas meant well, but she wasn't sure she wanted to see him socially.

She didn't even know where she stood with Jean-Luc. It would be foolish to entertain another potentially romantic relationship while trying to navigate her way through the tangled mess of her history with Jean-Luc.

 _But what if we can't find a way to be friends again, let alone something more?_

Beverly shrugged the thought aside and crossed the threshold into the admiralty's side of the mess. Jean-Luc stood when he saw her, and she was relieved to note the room was blessedly empty.

"Doctor," he said, pulling her chair out for her.

"Admiral," she replied, a soft smile on her lips.

For years, the use of their titles had been a private joke—a term of endearment without crossing that damned line—and, as her pulse quickened, she was pleasantly surprised to discover the words still held their power.

"I'm glad you could make it," Jean-Luc said, taking his seat. "I must apologize for my tardiness. Some third-year cadets thought it would be amusing to release _all_ the Karvellian skink slugs from their pens to run amok in one of the horticultural greenhouses."

"Oh, no," she said, stifling a laugh. "Not the…"

He nodded. "Yes, they released them into Greenhouse Eight: which is currently housing a massive collection of Karvellian butter moss."

"Oh, god," Beverly said, laughing.

"Indeed."

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask," she said, still chuckling. "How bad…"

"Let's just say the skink slugs were _very_ happy to find the perfect breeding conditions." He tried to maintain a serious expression, but his lips twitched as he added, "I suspect the cadets will be somewhat less happy when they report for clean-up at 0600 tomorrow."

Beverly shook her head, imagining the sight. The three-foot-long skink slugs would have entered into a frenzied mating orgy in the presence of that much butter moss. She didn't envy the cadets whose job it would now be to collect the millions— _literally millions_ —of sticky pupal sacs that would be coating the walls and ceiling of the greenhouse.

"Dealing with juvenile pranks comes with the territory," she said, smiling.

Jean-Luc ran his palms over his face and sighed. "When Command approached me with this assignment, they spoke of moulding future generations and setting Starfleet back on a right course. They mentioned nothing about investigating greenhouses covered in foul-smelling purple egg sacs."

"Do you regret it, then?" she asked. A trickle of the fear returned. "Are you having second thoughts about taking over the Academy?"


	14. Chapter 14

"What?" Jean-Luc gaped at her, dumbfounded. "No, not at all."

 _Dammit_ , he thought. _Not even five minutes in and the wall is back up_.

Beverly stared at him across the small table that seemed to be growing larger with every passing second. Her eyes were guarded, and the stiffness in her spine indicated he'd done the opposite of put her at ease.

"I meant is as a joke," he added. He gave her a half smile, saying, "Apparently a poor one at that."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't always assume…"

"The worst?"

"You know me, the glass is always half empty."

Jean-Luc chuckled softly, thinking about the number of times they'd been in a challenging situation and he'd had to remind her to think positively. For someone who fought tooth and nail to keep her patients alive on the operating table—refusing to believe they would do anything other than live—she had a remarkable lack of faith in the rest of the universe.

"Speaking of empty glasses," he said, waving the server over, "I believe I promised you dinner."

Beverly's stomach rumbled, and she blushed. "I forgot to eat lunch."

The server, the same young Andorian, approached and set a bottle of wine on the table. Picard nodded at her, and she took a deep breath before speaking.

"Sirs, the kitchen has prepared turkey with steamed vegetables, potatoes, and a selection of noodles and salads. You may, of course, order anything you wish, if you prefer a replicated meal."

"I'll have the turkey," Beverly said.

"I will as well," Jean-Luc added.

The Andorian nodded and left.

"After years in deep space," he said, uncorking the wine and letting it breathe, "I make a point of choosing real food whenever possible."

"There shouldn't be a difference, but there is."

Jean-Luc watched as Beverly reached for the pitcher and poured herself a glass of ice water. The unconscious grace in her movements still took his breath away. When she silently offered to fill his glass too, he nodded even though he had no plans to drink the liquid.

He studied her, committing every gesture to memory. If this was to be it, he wanted to capture every last nuance. She hadn't said she wanted to cut him out of her life but, if they couldn't find a way to work past the barriers they'd erected over the course of nearly four decades, he knew this would be their last meal together.

 _Because_ , he sighed, _I don't want to do this dance any longer, either_.

* * *

Beverly thanked their Andorian server and gazed hungrily at her plate. She picked up her cutlery and began to eat; for several moments she thought of nothing beyond the richness of the aroma and flavour of her meal.

"You're enjoying it?" Jean-Luc asked, bringing her out of her reverie.

She smiled at him, a little embarrassed. "Very much so. And you?"

"Yes," he said, nodding. "It's proving to be both delicious and satisfying."

He reached for the wine and poured them both a glass. He frowned as he checked the label, but seemed resigned to whatever had troubled him by the time he set the bottle down.

"Problem?" she asked.

"Nothing serious," Jean-Luc replied. "I just wouldn't have paired this wine with a poultry dish."

"Jean-Luc, don't tell me you're a wine snob," she teased.

He huffed, pretending to take offense. "I have a family reputation to maintain. If I don't uphold certain standards, where will it end?"

"Indeed," she said, grinning. "If the kitchen is going to serve a merlot with turkey, the universe will surely devolve into chaos."

"One does not mess around with wine," he said, nodding gravely, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "The future of our very survival might hang in the balance. I'm glad you understand, _Doctor_."

"Of course, _Admiral_."

Jean-Luc set down his utensils and sipped his wine. The merriment in his eyes softened into something more tender – and more wary.

The ripple of happiness floating around her abdomen coalesced into a knot of apprehension.

 _Here it comes_ , she thought. _The consequences_.

"Beverly, I am glad you came to see me today," Jean-Luc said. "I am always happy to work with you on a professional level."

 _Oh, god_. She forced her lungs to function.

"But," he added, apparently unaware of the distress his words had caused, "I must confess I had a far more selfish reason for being glad to see you."

"You did?" she asked weakly.

Jean-Luc nodded and set his hand on the table, palm up. Without thinking, she placed her hand in his. The warmth of his flesh against hers promised tenderness and security, yet she couldn't quell the fear worming its way around her gut.

"I did," he said. "I missed you when you left, and I found the deterioration of our relationship afterward to be one of the most painful experiences I have ever had.

"I have always forced myself to be content with being with you in whatever capacity you deemed appropriate. But I was relieved to hear you say you no longer wish to put limits on what we might become; not only because it means you still wish to have me in your life, but because it means we can move past this façade of being 'just friends.'"

Beverly swallowed.

"I wasn't the only one with boundaries, Jean-Luc."

"No," he replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "But mine were never substantive. One word from you and they would have melted away like frost on a vine."

"All these years…"

"Always."

She shivered.

"How can you be so certain? How can you believe so unwaveringly in something—in us—when there's no evidence to support your beliefs?"

"No evidence?" he asked, his eyes widening. "I rather think there's enough evidence to mount a water-tight case. In fact, I doubt any court would disagree with me."

Beverly shook her head. "Jean-Luc, you know as well as anyone, there are no guarantees in life. Unexpected things—tragic things—happen—"

"Wonderful things happen, too. Periods of joy, moments of bliss – these are what make life worth living," he said. "Beverly, for life to have meaning we must live to cherish the positives, not simply to avoid the negatives."

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. The rational part of her brain knew he was right; that she shouldn't avoid the good in the hope of sparing herself the bad. But the idea of making herself vulnerable—with no way to protect herself—ran against every instinct she possessed.

"I do enjoy the good things," she said. "There's much in my life I enjoy."

And it was true. She loved her work, her son, her hobbies. By all accounts she led a rich and fulfilling life.

"And yet, you feel you have to protect yourself from me," he said. He let out a slow breath then added, "Why?"

 _Where do I begin?_

She forced aside the urge to make a joke. She'd started the conversation, it wouldn't be fair for her to dodge and deflect now.

"Jean-Luc, I don't know how I feel about you."

"I see," he said. He gently disengaged his fingers from hers, and placed both of his hands in his lap.

Her mind screamed at her to leave it at that; to leave him thinking she didn't care about him any longer. This hurt, this pain, would be nothing compared to what she would suffer if she let him get closer.

Beverly curled her hands into fists and dug her nails into the palms of her hands to try to stop the trembling.

 _No_ , she thought. _It's time for honesty_.


	15. Chapter 15

"I don't know how I feel because I don't think there are words to describe the depth and complexity of emotions I experience whenever I'm with you," she said, almost whispering.

Beverly kept her gaze locked on her fists. If she looked at him—even for a second—she knew she'd lose her courage and flee.

"Jean-Luc, you're unlike any man— _anyone_ —I've ever met, and that scares me," she continued. "It's always been safest to allow myself to think of you only as a close, dear friend. To admit anything more was too dangerous."

She waited for him to speak, but he remained silent.

"I've always had some measure of control in the relationships I pursued. I went in with open eyes, aware that I could be hurt, but always able to keep a tiny portion of myself separate – ready for the inevitable end." She paused. "The only time I came close to giving all of myself to a partner was with Jack."

"Beverly…"

She shook her head. "I loved him deeply. Loved him more than I've loved any other man I've been with. Still, I kept a piece of myself back because there are risks in serving in Starfleet; I had to protect myself. In another time and another place—without Starfleet—I probably would have given him everything." She sighed. "But the past is past, and Starfleet is Starfleet, and I found myself a widow before many women find marriage.

"It almost killed me to lose him. I would have done anything to make the pain go away, to run until I couldn't remember any longer," she said. "But I had Wes. I had a tiny piece of me and Jack, and I had to protect it."

"You did a marvelous job of raising him," Jean-Luc said, his voice thick.

She risked a glance at him and her heart flip-flopped when his eyes met hers. Her fists ached from squeezing so tightly, but she couldn't release them. Not yet. She had to finish—to say what had been in her heart for decades—she owed him that.

"Jean-Luc, the thought of being with you, of giving myself to you, scares the hell out of me."

"And so you'd rather avoid it."

"That's what I told myself for years," Beverly replied. "How could I not? When I think of us, I _know_ I won't be able to hold any part of myself back. When I lose you, I won't have anything to cling to, to bring me back from the bottom of the abyss."

Beverly wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself tightly. She'd done it: Almost forty years after meeting him, she'd finally been completely honest. A wave of exhaustion crashed over her, fogging her brain and numbing her limbs.

"What makes you think you're going to lose me?"

She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and exhaled. "Because I always lose."

 _Always_.

"Beverly…"

"Besides," she said, chuckling darkly, "the odds aren't exactly in my favour. Statistically speaking, the likelihood of you outliving me is depressingly low."

"I haven't held much faith with playing the odds," he said.

"Faith can't erase years. We're all mortal, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc harrumphed. "I'll have you know I happen to have it on excellent authority that I am in outstanding health. I am fitter than men many years my junior."

 _Very true_. She felt the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. _I've seen first-hand just how fit you are_ …

She opened her eyes and rolled her shoulders, releasing some of the tension she'd built up during their conversation.

Jean-Luc reached for his wine glass and took a sip without taking his eyes from her. He leaned forward and said, "Thank you. Thank you for finally telling me why you always kept me at arms' length."

"You deserved to know," she replied. She held out her hand and he took it without hesitation. "After all these years, you deserve so much more than I can ever offer."

"Let me be the judge of that, Doctor." His eyes took on a mischievous glint, and he added, "I must admit, I am rather pleased with the truth."

Beverly arched an eyebrow. "You're _happy_ I'm terrified?"

He grinned cheekily and replied, "No, what pleases me is that you naturally assumed we'd be together until one of us dies."

Beverly rolled her eyes. "You _always_ have to look for the bright side, don't you?"

Jean-Luc pulled his napkin from his lap and wiped his lips. Beverly mimicked his actions and they waited for the ensign to clear their plates before resuming their position with their hands intertwined on the tabletop.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Please," she replied. "But not here. I need air. Let's go for a walk."

He raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Of course."

They stood and Jean-Luc turned to address their server who hovered near the swinging door leading to the kitchen, "Ensign, please give our thanks to the kitchen staff for a lovely meal."

"Yes, Sir."

"You'll of course put both meals on my account."

"Of course, Sir," she said, nodding.

Jean-Luc gestured for Beverly to precede him and she reluctantly took the lead. Dinner had been emotionally draining and she found herself yearning for closeness. She needed to feel the solidity of him; needed to keep him near or risk having her courage float away and desert her.

They walked in companionable silence along the corridors and down the steps. Once outside, Jean-Luc gallantly offered her his right arm. She linked her left arm through his and then slid it down so she could grasp his hand instead.

His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't stiffen or break contact. She reached across her chest with her right hand, gripped his arm just above the elbow, and tucked herself firmly against his side.

"Beverly?"

"Yes, Jean-Luc?" she replied, resting her head against his shoulder as they strolled along the street.

"Your actions—while not at all unwelcome—are suggesting a desire for a certain level of intimacy we have not previously explored in our relationship…" He let his words trail off before clearing his throat and adding, "And I would just like to confirm I'm not mistaken."

Beverly lifted her head and regarded him as he studied her face.

 _He's afraid I'm going to bolt. Again._

She gave him a soft smile and tugged him to a stop outside the coffee shop.

"You're not mistaken," she said, squeezing his hand. "Now, why don't we get some coffee and catch up? You won't believe some of the things I've been dealing with at Medical."

Jean-Luc smiled. "I'd love to hear all about it."


End file.
